


Soul Split in Two

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide Ideation, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For R Ship Week. Enjolras and Grantaire are dating and just waiting for the day when their soulbond settles. Nature, unfortunately, has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul Split in Two

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by an anon on tumblr for R/Combeferre accidental soulmates.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I don't own anything.

When Grantaire was nine, he asked his mother about soulmates for the first time. He wasn’t concerned with the process, knowing, as all children had been taught, that everyone had a soulmate assigned by nature from birth. His question was simple, but longing. “But how will I know who my soulmate is?”

Grantaire’s mother smoothed his dark curls and smiled. “You just will. Maybe not right away. But you’ll be drawn to whomever your soulmate is, will want to spend time with them, get to know them. And then, when maybe you least expect it, you’ll touch, or you’ll kiss, and you’ll just  _know_.”

Not even five miles away, Combeferre was having the exact same conversation with his own mother, frown on his face as he listened to her explanation. “That doesn’t seem particularly rational,” he said softly. “It sounds like pure chance. Surely if nature designed for two people to be together, there’d be a better way of telling?”

Years later, Combeferre would read in his textbooks the exact explanation, how a specific touch would trigger a biochemical reaction that sealed the bond permanently between two individuals. Before that, the bond was loose, tenuous, only felt as a vague attraction towards the individual. Every body was different with when it determined it was ready to accept the bond, but the bond could not be triggered until both parties were, and once it happened, it could not be undone. Still, nine-year-old Combeferre scowled up at his mother. “Seems stupid to me.”

Across town, Grantaire hugged a pillow to his chest and sighed, looking up at his mother with wide eyes. “That sounds so romantic.”

* * *

 

Years passed, and Combeferre and Grantaire grew up. Though they went to the same elementary and junior high schools, they didn’t really meet until high school, and even then, they only met because of Enjolras.

Combeferre met him first, in honors history freshman year. They were instant friends, in part by virtue of being the only two without a parcel of friends, and in part because they were drawn to each other by their similar politics but different ways of thinking. Combeferre wondered briefly, almost dared to hope, that Enjolras might be his soulmate.

But then Enjolras met Grantaire their sophomore year, and not even Combeferre could deny the sparks that flew between them. Granted, they seem to spend most their time arguing, but Combeferre walked in on them once making out, and figured that was just the way their relationship was.

And he then knew that he had lost Enjolras, that he had never had that kind of relationship with him, despite their obvious draw to each other. Enjolras was not Combeferre’s soulmate.

Grantaire became a fixture in Combeferre’s life by the simple fact that he was dating Enjolras. They spent their high school years together, Grantaire even following Enjolras (and Combeferre) to college when they all graduated. He could only tolerate so much of them together before he started to feel a little nauseous. Their relationship…it just seemed  _wrong_  to him, in some way that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

It didn’t help that he blamed Grantaire for stealing his best friend, the man who should have been his soulmate.

Luckily, college had brought many new friends, which allowed Combeferre to distance himself slightly from Grantaire and Enjolras, even though it seemed to pain him just as much if not more as watching them together. If either Grantaire or Enjolras noticed, they didn’t mention it. He was never able to stay away for long, helped by the student group formed predominantly of their friends, a social justice group started by Enjolras (unsurprising, to say the least).

Grantaire sat down next to him one day in the cafeteria while Enjolras was meeting with his academic advisor. “I think I love him,” he told Combeferre quietly, a grin on his face. “I was drawn to him from the beginning, but he was always with you, and I was so sure you two were soulmates.” Combeferre’s ears went red and his grip on his fork tightened, but Grantaire didn’t seem to notice. “But I think he and I are, and I just can’t wait until the bond settles and we can be together forever.”

Combeferre slammed his fork down, eyes flashing. “Some of us have more important things to deal with than your oh-so-perfect love life,” he snapped, grabbing his tray and standing. “Go tell someone who cares.”

He marched away, pausing only to dump his uneaten lunch in the garbage, not noticing the way that Grantaire stared after him as he left.

Of course, with a group of mutual friends, it was hard to stay apart, and he found himself at a party at Courfeyrac’s that very weekend with Grantaire — though not Enjolras — in attendance. Grantaire saw him and blushed slightly, avoiding his gaze. Combeferre sighed; this was going to be a long party.

Whether he had noticed the tension or not, Courfeyrac made things worse by announcing that they were going to play Seven Minutes in Heaven. And, of course, the first two names drawn were Combeferre and Grantaire.

Grantaire paled, glancing fleetingly at Combeferre, who was looking straight ahead, stone-faced. He jerked his chin towards the closet, indicating that Grantaire should go in first before following him in. Courfeyrac peaked his head in and leered at them. “You behave, kids. Your seven minutes starts…now!”

Then the door closed and Combeferre and Grantaire were alone. Combeferre licked his lips nervously as he looked at Grantaire, who was avoiding his gaze. “I know you hate me,” Grantaire said in a soft voice, arms wrapped around himself as he backed as far into the corner as he could. “I don’t…I mean, I  _do_  understand why, and I’m sorry, but I wish…I really wish you didn’t.”

Combeferre shook his head, feeling exhausted. “I don’t hate you,” he told Grantaire, his own voice equally quiet, if a little strained. “Trust me, I  _want_ to hate you. But it’s jealousy, plain and simple, jealousy of what you and Enjolras have together. And I’m sorry that I’ve taken it out on you.”

He swallowed hard and looked down, blinking back the sudden tears that pricked in his eyes. “Objectively, I know how bonds work, I know that no one really has a say in this, but I…I don’t…” He couldn’t seem to put it into words, but Grantaire understood, nodding slowly.

“I know. And I really am sorry.”

They were both quiet for a long moment before Grantaire tentatively held his hand out. “Friends?” he asked quietly. “Or at least willing to try?”

Combeferre considered him for a long moment before nodding. “Willing to try.” He shook Grantaire’s hand, surprised at the sudden weight that seemed to lift off of him at Grantaire’s touch. He half-smiled at him. “Should we do what we were sent in here to do?”

"May as well," Grantaire said, smiling as well. "At least it’ll make Enjolras laugh."

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Combeferre stepped closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and cupping his cheek with his other hand before leaning in to kiss him gently.

As soon as their lips met, it was as if the entire world shifted, changed. Combeferre’s whole world narrowed to the dark-haired man in his arms, the man that he had never before realized was so beautiful, so perfect. Their hearts seemed to beat in sync, their lips moving against each other’s perfectly as they pushed even closer together, clinging to each other for dear life, the very thought of separating enough to make Combeferre feel ill.

Of course. Of  _course_. He had always thought that it was Enjolras, but now he understood, understood why he hadn’t been able to cut off contact with Enjolras and Grantaire, why their relationship always seemed wrong to Combeferre. He understood now what his mother meant when she said he would just know, because he  _knew_ , knew with an ironclad certainty that the rest of his life would be meaningless without Grantaire at his side.

Evidently, Grantaire realized what had happened as well, since his eyes widened. “What the fuck?” Grantaire gasped, shoving Combeferre away from him, horror written on his face. “What did you do?”

Grantaire’s horror was mirrored in Combeferre’s expression. “I didn’t—” he started, panic beginning to well in his chest, panic that battled with the sudden, unmistakable desire to pull Grantaire back to him and kiss him again, to never let him out of his arms, to never let him go.

"It wasn’t meant to be you!" Grantaire hissed, completely panicked. "It was…it was supposed to be…Enjolras."

Enjolras. Of course. The one thing who had always been between them, just…never in the way that Combeferre had realized until now. “What will you tell him?” he asked Grantaire quietly, trying very hard not to look at Grantaire’s lips, not to think of kissing him again, or think of doing anything else.

“What will I tell him?” Grantaire repeated, shaking his head. “I’m not going to tell him  _anything_. We…I can’t do this. Not to him. And not with  _you_.”

Combeferre stared at him, trying to understand what he was saying. “What—” he started, but Grantaire was already gone, pushing the door open and slipping out, ignoring the cat calls and whistles from their friends as he all but fled from the party, leaving Combeferre staring after him, completely at a loss for what to do.

“Everything ok, Combeferre?” Courfeyrac asked with a grin. “Grantaire couldn’t seem to wait to get away from you.” His smile faded slightly as he saw the look on Combeferre’s face. “Seriously, is everything ok with you two?”

“Yeah,” Combeferre said vacantly, not looking at any of them. “I gotta go.”

He left before they could ask any more questions, trying desperately to ignore the heartbreak he was feeling, the desperation, the desire to do nothing more than go after Grantaire.

* * *

 

He didn’t; Combeferre tried his best to be honorable, and he would not force Grantaire to accept their bond if he didn’t want it. No matter how much it hurt Combeferre to be separated from him, he wouldn’t dare do anything that would hurt Grantaire. He couldn’t.

So he stayed back, watching as Grantaire carried on with dating Enjolras, holding his hand, hanging all over him in public, being even more obnoxious than they normally were. Enjolras, for his part, seemed to find it strange, but tolerated it. At least, until one meeting, when even Enjolras couldn’t take it anymore. “Would you stop?” he hissed at Grantaire, just loudly enough that everyone could hear them, though they did their best to ignore what was meant to be a private conversation.

“Stop what?” Grantaire asked, leaning in to kiss Enjolras, who pushed him away.

“ _That_. You’ve been all over me lately, and I don’t mind, normally, but not constantly. Not like this.” Enjolras’s voice dropped, turned gentle. “I know you want the bond to form between us, but you know as well as I do that it only comes with time. You can’t force it.”

Grantaire sat back in his chair, staring at Enjolras with a dark expression on his face. “Right. Can’t force it.” He stood abruptly, muttering something about needing air, and Enjolras frowned, but turned back to his notes, ready to start the meeting again.

Combeferre, however, followed Grantaire out. As soon as Grantaire saw him, he laughed bitterly. “Great. Just great. Of course it would be you. What do you want, Combeferre?”

“I wanted to make sure you were ok.” Combeferre’s voice was quiet, and he shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets, avoiding the temptation to reach out and touch Grantaire, to rub his shoulders, to hold his hand, to do _anything_  that would allow them physical contact.

Grantaire, on the other hand, balled his hands into fists. “You wanted to make sure I was ok. Do I fucking look ok, Ferre? Do I look like I’m handling everything well?”

Combeferre eyed him carefully. Grantaire looked about as well as Combeferre felt, which is to say not at all. He was paler than normal, with deep circles around his eyes as if he hadn’t slept properly in days (ever since their bond formed, Combeferre thought, though he was not that presumptuous). “Truthfully? You look like hell.”

Grantaire laughed again, still bitter, but almost helplessly. “That’s good because I  _feel_  like hell.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about everything. And I don’t…I don’t know how much longer I can do this to Enjolras. It’s not fair to him.”

The breath seemed to catch in Combeferre’s throat, and before he could stop himself, he had reached out to pull Grantaire into a gentle embrace, instantly relaxing once they had touched. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Grantaire’s ear, holding him close. “I’m so, so sorry that this has happened to you. To us.”

Though Grantaire clutched Combeferre just as tightly for a moment, when he pulled away, he was angry. “You’re  _sorry_? Well that’s fucking great, Ferre, but that changes fuck all. That makes none of this even remotely tolerable.”

“I know that.”

Grantaire chuckled dryly. “You  _know_  that? What the fuck do you know about any of this?”

Combeferre glared at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I know that I didn’t want this to happen either. I know that this was  _literally_  the worst thing that could have happened to either of us. But I know that not being around you, not touching you, not being  _with_  you, that’s what’s killing me most of all. I didn’t ask for this, and neither did you, but we’re  _stuck_  like this. There’s no second option here.”

“There’s always a second option,” Grantaire said softly, turning away, his shoulders set. “We just have to find it.”

Then he was gone, walking away from Combeferre the way he had after the party, when all of this began, and once again there was nothing Combeferre could do besides stare after him, feeling his heart break yet again.

* * *

 

True to his word, Grantaire broke things off with Enjolras, and Enjolras showed up to Combeferre’s apartment that night, eyes red from crying. “He told me,” was all he had to say to Combeferre for him to understand.

An hour later, after Enjolras had sobbed on Combeferre’s couch, Combeferre said softly, “I hope you know that I never wanted this to happen.”

Enjolras managed to give him a watery smile. “If it couldn’t be me, at least it’s you. He deserves a good man, Combeferre, and you are a good man.”

“I don’t feel like a good man,” Combeferre told him truthfully, rubbing his forehead. “He’s hurting and there’s nothing that I can do about it. He doesn’t want my help, doesn’t want  _me_.”

Touching Combeferre’s shoulder gently, Enjolras said quietly, “But he does  _need_  you. And he’ll see that, in time.”

Combeferre smiled sadly at him. “And here I thought I was the one comforting you.”

Enjolras shrugged and leaned against Combeferre. “We’re comforting each other. That’s what best friends do.” They lapsed into comfortable silence until Enjolras asked, curious, “What does it feel like?”

Combeferre glanced at him and sighed. “Like the best and worst feeling in the world. When we’re together, it’s the best thing, it’s intoxicating, it’s like I can’t take my eyes off of him and never want to take my hands off of him either. But when we’re apart…” He dropped off and looked down, swallowing hard. “It feels like my heart breaks a little more every day that we’re not together.”

Enjolras looked at him sharply. “And you were going to continue to let him date me regardless of what it was doing to you?”

“It was his choice,” Combeferre whispered. “I would never force him to do anything. Nature’s already done that for us.”

Reaching out, Enjolras took Combeferre’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I was wrong before, when I said you were a good man. You’re a  _great_  man, a far better man than I could ever hope to be. And you and Grantaire  _will_  work it out. I believe that.”

Though Combeferre nodded and forced a smile onto his face, he wished that he could believe that as well.

* * *

 

The next few weeks were even more hellish than the previous. At least when Grantaire was still with Enjolras Combeferre could see him on a fairly regular basis. Now, he was lucky to catch a single glimpse of him during the week, which only made the pain all the worse.

It didn’t help that the glimpses he did catch were disheartening, to say the least. Most of the time when he saw Grantaire, Grantaire was drunk. Though Grantaire had always had a fondness for alcohol, it had never been anything like this. More than once Joly had texted him to say that Grantaire had been taken to the hospital with alcohol poisoning.

Combeferre wanted to cry and rage and strangle some sense into Grantaire. Instead, he forced himself to be numb, to carry on with his life and pretend that this wasn’t breaking him down every single day that went on.

Just when he was beginning to wonder if he could handle this after all, if he could be strong enough for this the way that he had told himself he had to be, Grantaire showed up at his door at two o’clock in the morning.

When Combeferre opened the door, Grantaire almost fell on him, smelling strongly of whiskey as he swayed in the doorway. “Soulmate!” Grantaire exclaimed loudly, with a vicious grin. “Aren’t you proud of me now?”

“Grantaire.” Combeferre’s sigh was half-exasperated, half-relieved. “For Christ’s sake, get inside before you wake up all my neighbors.” He pulled Grantaire inside, revelling in the feel of his arm around Grantaire’s waist, holding him upright as he walked him to the living room. He set him on the couch and crouched down in front of him, holding Grantaire’s hands in his. “How are you feeling? Are you going to be sick?”

Grantaire shrugged, his eyes glassy, but he seemed able to focus on Combeferre in front of him. “Only in the sense that I have been sick since any of this started.”

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Combeferre stood and sat down next to him, their thighs just touching. “I know. I feel the same way. And I really am sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Grantaire mused. “You had nothing more to do with this than I do. If anything, I should apologize that you’re stuck with me, that you have to put up with me, that some weird, twisted part of you wants to be near me.” He paused, then added, contemplatively, “Of course, maybe that means you’re just as fucked up as I am…”

“You’re not fucked up,” Combeferre said hotly, but Grantaire just shrugged.

“Aren’t I, though?” he asked softly. “I can’t be with you, that’s abundantly clear, but I can’t  _not_  be with you. I’ve tried it and I’m miserable and in pain and absolutely worthless — more than usual — and every instinct in my body is begging to just be with you, to be held by you in your arms, to have you kiss me again.”

He laughed again, another bitter laugh, and shifted away from Combeferre slightly, his voice soft as he said, “I’ve thought about taking another way out, thought about just ending this all.”

Combeferre’s mouth went dry, and his heart began racing in panic. “You mean — Grantaire,  _no_ , you can’t do that, you can’t…can’t k-kill yourself, please,” he stuttered, stumbling over his words in his haste to get the words out. “Please, please, you can go to the other side of the world, you can never see me again if that’s what you want, but don’t, don’t hurt yourself.  _Please_ don’t hurt yourself.”

Grantaire touched him, gently, tracing his hand down Combeferre’s arm to tentatively wrap their fingers together. “That’s just it,” he whispered, “I don’t want to hurt anymore, either. And I’m so tired of running away.”

“But I’d rather you run away than do something permanent that can’t be undone!” Combeferre said hotly, turning to him to try and force him to listen, to understand, but then Grantaire leaned in and kissed him.

Combeferre froze as Grantaire’s lips touched his, his heart leaping in his chest, hands fluttering uselessly against Grantaire’s chest. His mouth opened against Grantaire’s, and his hands dropped to Grantaire’s waist, tugging him closer until Grantaire was practically straddling him, their kisses deepening, making up for the time that they hadn’t been doing this, the time they had spent running from this.

Grantaire kissed Combeferre once more, gently, then leaned back slightly, his hands on Combeferre’s thighs. “Don’t you understand?” he asked gently, his nose brushing against Combeferre’s. “I said I was tired of running and that I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I want…I want to try this, to try and make it work.”

“It will work,” Combeferre said softly, running his fingers through Grantaire’s dark curls. “Nature made us for each other, right? So it will work.”

Grantaire hummed softly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, though his answering smile was gentle. “Either way. I realized something these last few weeks, while I was busy searching for a second option.”

Combeferre couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing him gently. “What did you realize?”

“That there is no second option,” Grantaire said simply, and then he kissed Combeferre again, wrapping his arms around Combeferre’s neck.

As Combeferre kissed Grantaire back, held him close and just revelled in being able to touch him and kiss him and hold him, he knew that what Grantaire said was true. Grantaire was his only option; Grantaire was his best option. Maybe he wouldn’t have chosen Grantaire on his own, and maybe Nature had taken away what choice he may have had, but he had no regrets in that regard. He didn’t want there to be another option. He only wanted Grantaire, and for now, he had him, and had no intention to let him go anytime soon.


End file.
